


Life Isn't Fair, Kid.

by Kotonohaku



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Body Horror, Kinda?, One Shot Collection, Origin Story, Peter Embarrasses Himself in Front of His Idols, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), fluff too though, lots of angst probably, will update tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-06 17:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kotonohaku/pseuds/Kotonohaku
Summary: Decided I might post some drabbles and one-shots whenever they come to mind. If you have any cool ideas, feel free to leave a comment and I might try to work it into something! These will be primarily Peter-centric, but Tony and the other Avengers will probably make an appearance later on. Still deciding if these will all take place in the same timeline.





	1. All it takes is one mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I know some of you are still waiting on the continuation to my Venom one-shot, and I SWEAR it's in the works; it's actually a little longer, but I can't seem to get the characterization down yet. For now I'll post any writing warm-ups or other short tidbits I wouldn't normally post on their own. Enjoy, and remember, comments are my lifeblood; they keep me writing!

There’s a special brew of fear and pain I didn’t even realize was possible until it hit me with the force of a freight train.

The agony’s already reaching a level that my brain didn’t know existed, and now it’s _boiling_ in it.

The night air is drifting in through my bedroom window; i opened it hours ago because I was feeling a little warm. If only I’d known! Not that it would’ve done me much good anyways.

Every inch of my overheated skin feels pulled so taut that it must be ready to tear. I’m so terrified of moving even the slightest inch. Honestly, I probably couldn’t even if I tried. My body is still haphazardly splayed halfway onto the bed, in the same position I collapsed in hours ago.

Even though it’s humid and chilly in here now, it hardly makes a dent in the blistering heat pulsing through my bloodstream, snaking outwards from the twin puncture marks on my neck. I must be dying. Nobody’s temperature could possibly reach this high if they weren’t being cooked alive inside their own skin.

It feels like hot worms are writhing inside every muscle I possess, riddling me with burning, aching holes. There’s something- oh god, there’s something _growing in me_. I can feel it pushing its way through the skin in my hands and feet, unfurling like sprouting weeds. My muscles and tendons feel swollen and inflamed, re-knitting themselves into something wrong. My bones are crackling slightly every half an hour or so, shifting in place all on their own. It’s agonizingly slow. It’s _disgusting_. Yet I can’t do a thing about it.

How do you combat something _inside_ of you? How can you fight your own flesh and blood?

I’m not an idiot. Really. This has to be because of that genetically modified spider- scratch that, genetically modified _radioactive_ spider- that bit me at Oscorp today. I know way more about radiation poisoning than I’d like to at this exact moment. There’s no way I’m getting up from this at the steadily increasing rate my deterioration seems to be taking; there’s no telling how many toxins got pumped into that thing at the lab.

I'm falling apart at the seams. I can only wish I’d just pass out already, but whatever is happening to me is insistent on me remaining conscious for every excruciating second of it. My own body is becoming unfamiliar even as I lay here trapped inside it.

After a while of floating in this mindless cloud of pain, I regain enough presence of mind to notice my glasses had fallen off a long time ago, and yet... I can see perfectly. Like, _really_ perfectly. I’m pretty sure I could count the wood grains in the floor. It’s surreal to not have some form of fingerprint, dust, or smear marring my vision.

Every second that passes by seems to compound the assault being waged upon my heightening senses, new problems popping up left and right, as if this sickness had decided I haven't had enough yet! I swear can hear a conversation happening _eight floors below me_. Maybe hearing is the wrong word. It’s more like I can _feel_ it, if that makes sense. The vibrations from the noise are reaching me, just not… through my ears? This is a whole new level of hallucinating.

The world is rapidly becoming a blur of input, too much coming from every angle in every possible way; my brain feels like it’s turning to mush. Forget seeing well, now I can’t see at all. Or... hear at all. Where did everything go? It only takes a moment to confirm that my surroundings have melted into a dark haze, so I guess I finally knocked out to some extent. At least it’s less strenuous this way. Always looking on the bright side, that's me!

I’m definitely going crazy. How the _hell_ am I going to explain this to May?


	2. Oh, Shit.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AKA, Peter's Absentmindedness Bites Him in the Ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally intended as a sort of prequel to a 5+1 I may or may not end up writing; for now, here it is anyways. Let me know what you think! And please, PLEASE, point out any errors. I edited this at 1 AM.

There's something mesmerizing about the moment he lets go of a web.

Peter feels like he's totally weightless for just that one second, and he can't get enough of it. He laughs breathlessly, tucking his legs forward as he shoots another web, letting it carry him forward in a swooping arc through the city.

He’d just left school, after somehow managing to not-fail his English test, so he’s in a pretty good mood today. Plus, Mr. Stark had texted him earlier and let Peter know he could swing by the tower later. Apparently there’s someone Mr. Stark wants him to meet, which is both exciting and petrifying at the same time.

Anyone who is important enough to be an acquaintance of Tony Stark has to be important, which almost definitely means they're going to be some scary billionaire friend. But on the same hand, any person Mr. Stark wants to introduce to him is probably pretty down-to-earth. Hopefully.

Hence why he’s sort of just throwing caution to the wind and going in blind.

Releasing the last web, he positions his arms and legs and sticks firmly on the sleek glass. His joints bend smoothly as he absorbs the force of the impact with ease, now clinging to the side of Avengers Tower. Or… Stark Tower? He's not sure what they're calling it now that the Avengers are gone.

Peter then begins the long, arduous task of clambering up to the landing pad on top.

He's nearly halfway up when he spots an open window. _‘Oh, sweet!’_ he thinks, edging towards it, _‘Maybe… Mr. Stark left it open for me?’_ It's a hopeful thought, but hey, maybe his mentor was having pity for once and letting him forego the trip to the top of the tower.

It's one of the residential floors, not offices, so he figures it couldn't hurt. Without giving it much more thought, he shoots a web about ten feet above it, jumps away from the building, and flings himself feet first into the room, flipping to a landing-

-only to find himself face-to-face with the Avengers. The freaking _Avengers_. They're all totally still, obviously mid-discussion- Clint's mouth is just hanging open- looking at Peter with a mix of surprise and bemusement.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” he says thoughtlessly, standing there having a stare-off with the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. “Hey! Language!” Mr. Stark says mockingly as he strides into the room, attention on his StarkPad before the silence attracts his attention, and he glances up. He actually does a double-take upon realizing who spoke, nearly dropping the tablet, but quickly recovers, pasting on the winning smile he always wears when he’s getting ready to schmooze.

“Well, that’s one way to make an entrance, kid. I was kind-of expecting you through… Oh, I don't know, _the front door?_ ” Mr. Stark said, setting down his work and turning to the others. “Well, Avengers, meet Spider-Baby. Spidey, meet the Avengers. There. Now that we’ve got introductions aside, I was-”

He doesn't get to finish, because Peter's already cutting in, “W-wait, THIS is who you wanted me to meet?! The freaking _Avengers_?” His voice becomes increasingly higher-pitched as he speaks, panic evident in his tone.

“I’m… kind of on the same page here. What's this guy's deal? You sound like you're twelve. _Please_ tell me you’re not twelve,” Clint deadpanned, eyes jumping between Tony and Spider-Man, searching for answers.

Steve just has a sort of stern look on his face as he turns to Tony, disapproval apparent as he starts, _“Tony-”_

“Okay, okay, let’s not all jump on my ass at once! Spider-Man here is my… protégé, so to speak. I’m showing him the ropes of the whole superhero gig. He’d do it with or without my support- already was, in fact, so at least it's safer this way!” Tony snaps back hastily, not letting Steve get a word in. He knows if he starts reprimanding him, it'll never end. They all turn their heads back towards Peter, appraising him in light of this new information.

He wants to say something to defend himself, ensure them he’s definitely not a kid, what the hell, but what comes out of his mouth instead is, “Aren't you guys, like, war criminals or something?” He mentally slaps himself. _‘Way to have tact, Peter!’_ he thinks, grimacing. This was _not_ going to end well.

 

-

 

Being back in the country after months in Wakanda was a bit of a culture shock, and he was still extremely cautious, but Steve was definitely relieved to no longer be on the run. He had known what he was leaving behind, sure- but Bucky was all he really had left of his old life, and he would drop the moniker of Captain America in a heartbeat for him.

But he’s where he could get help now, by his own choice- and Steve knows that- so all he can do is wait and hope.

When Tony had called through the burner phone he’d sent him, he was nervous at first. Tony was a prideful man, that much was obvious- so for him to be stooping to asking Steve for help, he had to be in dire straits.

Steve picked up immediately, listening to the static crackling of movement on the other end. “Hello?”

“Steve! Just the man I was looking for!”

“...Tony, what’s this about? It had better be important,” Steve felt the need to clarify, given the uppity tone on the other end.

“So ungrateful. I go out of my way to tell you the Avengers are being pardoned, and this is the thanks I get? I-”

“Hang on, _what?_ Are you kidding me?”

“No, _Steven_ , I am not kidding you, so you can get your spangly ass back to America and quit making out with your boyfriend in Africa. Or whatever it is you’re doing down there. Don’t want to make any assumptions!”

As Tony rambled on in the background to mask his nervousness, Steve’s thoughts were a million miles away- _‘The Avengers have been pardoned? After resisting arrest and executing a jailbreak? We practically caused an international incident! Who could’ve pulled enough strings to- ...oh.’_

Interrupting Tony’s tirade about the pole up the ass of the current Secretary of State, Steve asked, “Tony, how did you manage that? I thought you were furious. Hell, I would be. Why would you- How did you-”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Rogers,” Tony responded, slightly miffed at being ignored, “You may be an idiot, but if you think I’d just leave my _friends_ to fend for themselves as _fugitives_ you’re dead wrong. Sure, I’m pissed at you; but i've had plenty of time to sulk, and I think i’d rather be pissed at you here than over a fucking burner phone.”

At that, Steve was silent, shocked by the sudden serious tone Tony's voice had taken.

Within a day he found himself aboard the Quinjet once again, heading back. Heading _home_. The nostalgia was immense, considering it had just been mere months since they'd last traveled together like this. It felt like centuries.

Everyone else seemed just as surprised- pleasantly surprised, of course, but still. Clint and Scott just seemed overjoyed at the thought of seeing their families again, and he couldn't blame them. They’d gotten imprisoned helping him after all; he felt immeasurably guilty for separating them from their kids at the drop of a hat.

Natasha hadn’t said anything, but the subtle smile she's been wearing since they got the news is reassurance enough.

When they’d touched down on the tower, they had at least expected Tony to meet them there, but the mechanic was nowhere to be found.

“Hello, Captain Rogers. Boss will meet you all in the communal living area on floor ninety,” FRIDAY’s voice blared from a wall speaker above the only door, which promptly unlocked and swung open.

“...Well, that's ominous,” Natasha quipped.

“That's one way to put it.” Steve curiously glanced around as he led the team down the hallway. “Not much has changed,” he observed, since he was half-expecting an unfamiliar environment.

“Knowing Tony, he'll have some dramatic welcoming speech waiting for us,” Clint sighed.

Wanda hummed in agreement, most of her attention on her surroundings.

“Wanda, Scott, you've never been to the tower, right?” Steve remembered, “I'm sure you'll love it. Tony spared no unnecessary expense.”

Wanda rolled her eyes at that. “I'm sure I'll be grateful for the sentient kitchen appliances.” Scott just looked confused. Clint snorted, and Natasha smirked as they neared the elevator; Steve was at a loss.

“Who even _told_ you about that?” Steve started, but clamped his jaw shut as Wanda just nonchalantly waved a hand in response, red particles weaving around her fingers.

There was a sort of tense silence in the air after that as they continued down the hallways and into the elevators, as if everyone was waiting for something to go horribly wrong. Their fears turned out to be totally unfounded, however, when they exited onto the designated floor and encountered one Tony Stark slumped on a couch, drinking coffee.

Upon arriving in the living room, Tony stood up to greet them: “Well, if it isn't my _favorite_ band of happy assholes! I think we have a few things to discuss.”

 

-

 

“Aren't you guys, like, war criminals or something?”

Tony almost wants to laugh. “Don't you watch the news, kid? The Accords were amended, the Avengers were pardoned, any of that ringing a bell?”

Peter just shakes his head frantically, looking extremely lost as he stands awkwardly in front of the window. “Well! I’m- uh, i'm Spider-Man. Oh but you already know that Mr. Stark just told you _uhhhhhhhh_ -” Peter's brain must be malfunctioning, he reasons, because he can't seem to string two words together and is just blurting out whatever comes to mind first.

Clint mouths _“Mr. Stark”_ , looking more than a little put-out.

Wanda looks on with mild interest, but Natasha sort-of appears as if she's swallowed a lemon.

“I can't take off my mask because my identity is a secret and it's a matter of _security_ \- you know how it is- anyways I can't believe I'm standing in the same room as the _Avengers_ I already know who you all are of _course_ who wouldn't uhhhhh _hhhmm_ hey Mr. Stark why did you? Want me here?” Peter’s voice cracks as he wrings his hands, desperate to get out of the embarrassing hole he's digging himself.

Tony really wants to laugh now. All eyes are on him, however, so he swallows his amusement. “The plan was for you to get some serious self-defense training and the like, just to make sure you don't get killed by some random mugger because you can't disarm him. Or, god forbid, you get in some kind of plane crash while fighting a psychopathic bird-man with a grudge. Oh, but that would _never_ happen.”

Peter shrinks a little under Mr. Stark's pointed look. “Oh! Oh, right, of course! Makes total sense, yep,” he nodded.

Natasha watches the kid intently, scrutiny clear in her expression. Then, after a painfully long and awkward silence, she smirks. “I don't have anything against beating a few lessons into him.”

 _‘Oh god,’_ Peter feels like he’s going to faint, _‘The Black Widow is going to kill me.’_


End file.
